nd candidly
appreciative of the reasons Susan had assigned for her proposal. He gave
her back her freedom, not that he should cease to feel an interest in
her, always. He accepted his own release, not that he would ever think
she could be indifferent to his future fortunes. And within a very brief
period of time after sending his answer to Susan Posey, whether he wished
to see her in person, or whether he had some other motive, he had packed
his trunk, and made his excuses for an absence of uncertain length at the
studio, and was on his way to Oxbow Village.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

JUST AS YOU EXPECTED.

The spring of 1861 had now arrived,--that eventful spring which was to
lift the curtain and show the first scene of the first act in the mighty
drama which fixed the eyes of mankind during four bloody years. The
little schemes of little people were going on in all our cities and
villages without thought of the fearful convulsion which was soon coming
to shatter the hopes and cloud the prospects of millions. Our little
Oxbow Village, which held itself by no means the least of human centres,
was the scene of its own commotions, as intense and exciting to those
concerned as if the destiny of the nation had been involved in them.

Mr. Clement Lindsay appeared suddenly in that important locality, and
repaired to his accustomed quarters at the house of Deacon Rumrill. That
worthy person received him with a certain gravity of manner, caused by
his recollections of the involuntary transgression into which Mr. Lindsay
had led him by his present of "Ivanhoe."--He was, on the whole, glad to
see him, for his finances were not yet wholly recovered from the injury
inflicted on them by the devouring element. But he could not forget that
his boarder had betrayed him into a breach of the fourth commandment, and
that the strict eyes of his clergyman had detected him in the very
commission of the offence. He had no sooner seen Mr. Clement comfortably
installed, therefore, than he presented himself at the door of his
chamber with the book, enveloped in strong paper and very securely tied
round with a stout string.

"Here is your vollum, Mr. Lindsay," the Deacon said. "I understand it is
not the work of that great and good mahn who I thought wrote it. I did
not see anything immoral in it as fur as I read, but it belongs to what I
consider a very dangerous class of publications. These novels and
romances are awfully destructive